


An Impromptu Thanksgiving

by ToxicNebulae



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Baking, Cooking, F/M, First Time, Romance, Smut, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicNebulae/pseuds/ToxicNebulae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Doctor's insistence, he and Rose set about preparing Thanksgiving dinner, but the two get... a bit sidetracked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Impromptu Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this drawing by flypup: http://flypup.tumblr.com/post/65411236746/i-need-to-bake-something-soon-because-i-havent-had

Rose sighs, idly running her fingers over the pages of the enormous cook book she has open in front of her. Honestly, she has no idea why she let the Doctor talk her into this; she’s never really been much for cooking. He’d been so heartbreakingly sweet that morning, though, when he bounded into her room and attempted to wake her by jumping up onto her bed:

 

  
“Rose? Rose, are you up yet? Honestly, humans, sleeping half your little lives away… RO-ooo-oose?!” She peeked her head out of her nest of blankets, opening a bleary eye at him. “Oh, good! You’re awake! We should have a Thanksgiving!”

  
“A… a _what_?”

  
“You know! Fourth Thursday of November, turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, sort of… celebrating… colonialism…” he trailed off, tugging a hand through the hair at the base of his neck. “Welllllllll, maybe not that last part.” Rose’s faculties—the half of them that were there that early, anyway—were still busy being impressed at his ability to turn monosyllabic words into grand productions, when he spoke up again. “So! What do you say?”

  
“Doctor… we’re not American. You’re not even from Earth!” A flicker of hurt passed his eyes.

  
“Well, I’m not really from anywhere, anymore…” His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It was a silly idea. I’ll just let you get back to bed, then…”

  
Rose heaved a sigh, suspecting that these dramatics were not wholly genuine, but she really couldn’t say no to him when he was looking at her like that. _The Oncoming Storm, indeed_ , she thought to herself. _More like the Oncoming Pout_.

  
“Oh, alright. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed and—“

  
“No time!” He beamed at her, locating her hand and pulling her up from the bed with him, pyjamas, messy hair and all. “We’ve got to get a move on if we’re going to finish dinner before tonight!”

  
By the time she had woken up enough to mutter something about them _living in a bloody time machine, for god’s sake_ , he had pushed her into a chair in the galley and set about pulling books down from a shelf in the cupboard. “It’ll all have to be vegan, of course…”

  
“What?” Rose said for what she was anticipating would not be the last time that day. “Doctor, why on Earth would it have to be vegan?”

  
“Because, Rose! Think of the animals! Have you seen Earthlings?” He shuddered.

  
“O-kayyy, but…” she walked over to the table that was now covered in cook books of various sizes, that her last Doctor wouldn’t have admitted to owning, let alone using, just as the Doctor pulled down the volume he’d been looking for and gave a satisfied hum. “…doesn’t the TARDIS usually synthesise all that stuff for us, anyway?”

  
“Rose!” he exclaimed, starting to put the rest of the books away. “Synthesised foodstuffs do not a traditional 21st century Earth Thanksgiving make.”

  
“Riiight… so instead, we’re having a “traditional 21st century Earth Thanksgiving” with no turkey?”

  
“Yep!” he answers, beaming proudly as if she’d finally caught on. “Besides, you lot have a bunch of non-meat substitutes! Really clever, sometimes, humans are. But we should bake first. Why don’t you get started on the pie?” And, grinning excitedly, he ran out of the galley for parts unknown.

 

Rose grumbles a bit, turning the pages of _Vegan for the Holidays_ in search of a pumpkin pie recipe. She’s not even going to pretend to follow his logic, but as long as it makes him happy, she’ll play along. She goes through the motions of preheating the oven, making the pie crust, mixing the filling and pouring it in, wondering what could be taking him so long. She’s just donned an oven mitt and is about to put the pie into the oven when he runs into the galley, a banana in each hand.

  
“Rose! Did you know, we can make vegan ice cream with bananas! Bananas, Rose!”

  
She turns around to face him, confused. “I thought we were gonna bake…?”

  
He puts the bananas on the counter, looking at her like she’s just dribbled on her shirt. “How are we supposed to eat pie without ice cream? Honestly, Rose, are you sure you—“ He looks as if he’s about to go on, but then he spots the pie. “Ooooh, how’s the pie coming?”

  
“Ready to go in the oven, no thanks to you—hey!”

  
He looks up at her innocently, saying “What?” around the finger he’s licking clean of the pie filling. “It’s really good!”

  
She rolls her eyes, quickly putting it into the oven before he gets another swipe at it. “Yes, and you’ll wait to eat any more of it until it’s _cooked_.” She takes off the mitt and finishes setting the timer, saying, “So what are we supposed to do with those bananas?”

  
She turns around to face him, and she tries to pay attention to what he’s saying, she really does, but she just ends up watching the orange glob on his lower lip.

  
“…and then, of course, we have to add the vanilla and… Rose? Are you listening to me?”

  
“Hm?” She starts guiltily, noticing that somehow they’re a lot closer than they were before he began speaking. “Yeah… yeah, vanilla, of course.”

  
He squints at her, not completely convinced. “Is something wrong?”

  
“No, no, it’s just that… you’ve got a bit of…” she reaches up and runs her thumb along his lip, collecting the filling and showing it to him. “There! All better,” she says, a bit breathless—and before she realises what she’s doing, she sticks the digit in her mouth. “Mmm, that is good!” She looks up at the Doctor again, immediately flushing a bit at the sight of him; his lips are parted, his eyes dark. “I… I’m sorry, I just—“ She’s cut off by his lips abruptly meeting hers.

  
She gasps, and he takes advantage, running his tongue along her bottom lip, and he still tastes like pumpkin and cinnamon and nutmeg, and she moans into his mouth. She can’t quite believe this is happening, but if he’s about to freak out and run out of the room again soon, she’s going to make what she can of this. She runs her hands through his hair, and, far from running away, he pulls her even closer, wrapping an arm around her back and placing his other hand on her waist. Or, well, what he seems to think of as her waist; his thumb is brushing against the bottom curve of her breast, and she’s still wearing nothing but a vest top and pyjama shorts, and the entire room is starting to smell like baking, and she never ever wants this moment to end.

  
Eventually, though, she has to come up for air, and she pushes him away, breathing heavily. The Doctor looks at her, concerned. “I’m sorry, did I… did I do something wrong?” He’s wearing his “kicked puppy” look, and Rose rushes to reassure him.

  
“No, no, it’s just… you know, inferior human physiology. I need oxygen every once in a while.” She shoots him her special tongue-touched grin, and it isn’t long before he’s chasing her tongue back into her mouth. The next time she needs to break away, he trails kisses down her neck and across her collar bone, thankful for all the skin her shirt is revealing. After a few moments, she impatiently pulls his lips back to hers, swiping her tongue along his bottom lip (that stupid, infuriating lip that started all this trouble in the first place) until he opens his mouth to her. His hands are on either side of her waist and he pushes her gently until she feels the edge of the table hit the backs of her legs. Grinning against his mouth, she slides onto the table, wraps her legs around his and encourages him to step between them.  
She wonders how far he’s going to let this go, whether they’re about to make love for the first time on a kitchen table surrounded by the mess left by Rose’s baking and the smell of pumpkin pie. It would be sweet and spontaneous and, she thinks, just right.

  
He may be thinking along the same lines, because his thumbs are tracing circles on the dips of her pelvis, his hands against the bit of midriff that’s exposed by Rose reaching up again to hold onto his hair. Slowly, he moves his hands upwards, bringing her shirt with them, and she flexes her feet against his calves. When his hands ghost across her ribs, she can’t help but laugh a bit, and just like that, he’s pulled away and is pouting at her again.

  
“Really, Rose, I hardly see what’s so funny about— Oh.” He stops speaking abruptly, which probably has something to do with the fact that Rose has deftly pulled her top over her head and dropped it onto the floor.

  
She raises her eyebrows, smiling broadly. “You were saying?”

  
“Hm…? Oh! Uh, nothing! That, that is to say… that, uh…” She shakes her head in fond exasperation, pulling him in and slicking her mouth over his again. _There’s more than one way to shut up a Time Lord_ , she muses.

  
His hands flutter ineffectually about her torso until he places them over her ribs again, revelling in the feeling of her bare skin, wondering if it would be considered bad form to touch her breasts just yet.  
Rose’s priorities seem to be more along the lines of getting the Doctor down to a state of dress closer to her own; she removes his tie and suit jacket and begins working on the buttons of his shirt, huffing exasperatedly when she finds that he has yet another shirt on under that one. “Honestly, was this really necessary just to stay in and make food?” He smiles sheepishly, shrugging out of the shirt as Rose finishes unbuttoning it and pulling his T-shirt over his head.

  
And then they’re kissing again, chest to chest, and Rose is running her hands over the Doctor’s back and he cups a breast gently in each hand. “Is this alright?” he mutters against her mouth. Rolling her eyes, Rose places her hands over his and squeezes. “Oh… oh, alright then. That’s, um, that’s rather mmpph—“ Rose smiles into the kiss; she’s really getting the hang of this whole “shutting him up” thing. They kiss deeply and unhurriedly, until Rose pulls her legs tighter around him and his hips press against hers.

  
“Doctor?” she whispers against his lips.

  
“Yes, Rose?”

  
“Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” She grins touching her tongue to her upper teeth.

  
The Doctor sighs, shaking his head. “And how long have you been waiting to use that one, hm?”

  
She presses kisses along his jawline, sucks lightly at his Adam’s apple. “Since big ears and leather.” She reaches down to unfasten his trousers, pulling them and his boxers down until they fall from his narrow hips.

  
He steps in closer to her, wrapping his arms around her lower back. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers, pulling at the string of her shorts. “But I didn’t think you’d…especially not back then…”

  
She shakes her head, smiling at him. “I’ve always loved you, you daft alien.”

  
He answers with the widest grin she’s ever seen on him, and that’s saying something. She lifts her hips, helping him to remove her shorts and knickers, and he runs his hands up her thighs, just taking all of her in; her pert breasts, the slight rounding of her stomach, the light hair covering her mons and extending onto her inner thighs. She blushes under his scrutiny. “I haven’t really had a reason to—“  
He shushes her, his lips brushing hers. “You’re lovely.” She smiles, bringing her hands down to frame his hips, turning her attention to his body. He looks mostly human, if a bit—well, bigger—than anything she’s seen before. _Christ, that’s got to be a good ten inches…_

  
She’s distracted by the Doctor’s hand running through her curls, sliding a finger down to run through her sex, and she makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat. He kneels between her legs, pulling her closer to the edge of the table, staring at her like she’s the most beautiful thing in the universe—and, right now, she feels like she is.

  
He resumes touching her with the long, dexterous fingers of his right hand (and, oh, she will never impugn this hand’s good name ever again), repeating motions that make her gasp and lift her hips towards him. He’s awestruck when he discovers her clit, finds out all the noises he can get her to make by touching her just there…

  
Until Rose suddenly pulls him up by his shoulders, dragging him away from his new favourite activity. “I want you,” she breathes into his neck, and he amends that statement: his new favourite activity thus far.  
“Are you sure?” he asks, stepping closer until he’s pressing against her opening. Rose responds by wrapping her legs around his thighs, grabbing his hips and pulling him into her. “Oh…” Rose kisses him proactively, before he starts up another round of incoherent babbling, and he starts to move within her, clutching at the edge of the table.

  
She’s already so close, and he can’t even remember the last time he did this, and he almost wishes that this were more drawn out—on a bed, with candles and flowers and other such human things, because Rose deserves this to be perfect, she deserves everything. But then she lets out a noise that’s something between a gasp and a moan, and the smell of the baking pie becomes more potent, and really everything about this is just perfectly them.

  
Rose lifts her legs higher around his hips, pulling him in deeper, and he pulls away from her mouth to suck at the join of her neck and shoulder, moving more quickly and rubbing small circles around the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs with his thumb. She stretches her neck to give him easier access, lightly running her nails across his back, and he can’t hold back any longer, he’s coming, gasping out her name brokenly.

  
It only takes a few more seconds of the Doctor’s thumb against her and she’s following him, her nails biting into his lower back, panting out her release.  
He’s still softening inside of her when the oven timer goes off, making them both jump. He grins, switching the oven off before swinging her into his arms and heading towards his bedroom.

 

  
Needless to say, Thanksgiving dinner never actually happened.


End file.
